


Rather Die By Your Side

by OfficialStarsandGutters



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Day 2: Having Each Other's Backs, GW2017A, Gallavich Week, Gen, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 10:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11034348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialStarsandGutters/pseuds/OfficialStarsandGutters
Summary: For Gallavich Week Day Two: Ian and Mickey Having Each Other's BacksZombie Apocalypse AU-“Ian, I'd rather die by your side than have to live in a world without you. Where you're gone and I didn't do shit to stop it. There ain't anything left out there for me. You're all I'm here for now. So we go together, or you don't go at all.”





	Rather Die By Your Side

“'Cause love is a battlefield! Woah-oh-oh-oh,” Mickey and Ian sing (if their somewhat tuneless yelling can still be called singing) as they climb the steps to the Gallagher house, both giddy with anticipation of their approaching date. Ian feels light and free for the first time in weeks, feels like himself, like the part of him that's been buried beneath all the heavy, groggy, aching shit for so long. He keeps his arm around Mickey as he reaches for the door, but then he pauses, straining his ears.

“Did you hear that?” he asks.

“What?” Mickey smiles up at him, eyes twinkling in the street lights. He, too, looks happier than Ian's seen him in weeks. Then his smile falters as he hears what Ian is referring to; a low, wheezy sound. A mixture of growl and strained, heavy breathing. “What the-”

A shape staggers around the side of the house. It's a person, shoulders slumped forward. He's wearing a military uniform. Ian's heart rises to his throat.

“Fuck.” He shoves the door open, but he can see through to the living room, Sammi talking to another uniformed man. Their heads turn towards the sound of the door. Ian swallows hard. “MPs.”

Mickey grabs his arm and yanks him back down the steps. The staggering one has reached them now, his eyes wide, his mouth twisted in a snarl. There's saliva leaking from the corner of his mouth. Ian freezes. It's not right; he's not right.

“Get the fuck away from him,” Mickey says, shoving the guy away. He goes. Too easily. Almost falls. Catches himself slow, and comes forward again. They should be running, but Ian is frozen. It's only when he reaches forward with fingers twisted like claws and catches the arm of Mickey's coat, that Ian springs to life, punching him in the face. Pain bursts through his injured hand.

“Ian Gallagher.” The other MP is at the door now, looking down on him. Before Ian can answer, he steps forward. Mickey gets in between them. The man shoves him, but while they're engaged in their scuffle, Ian's eyes are on the first MP. He's rolled his head back from the punch as if he barely felt it. There's a bubble of saliva at the corner of his mouth, now tainted red with blood. He groans, loud, and Ian feels vaguely sick, feels some kind of automatic defensive instinct make his chest tighten. Something is wrong, very wrong.

Ian grabs the back of Mickey's coat and pulls him sharply just as the groaning MP jolts forward again, dragging Mickey all the way back to the gate. The MP that was fighting with him draws his gun and raises it. He doesn't seem to realise the state his colleague is in, and as he steadies his gun, the groaning MP tackles him from the side. They both fall to the ground. The gun is knocked from his hand and sails across the grass.

“Into the house,” Ian says, demanding, giving Mickey a shove to the shoulder to get him moving. He ducks down quick to grab the gun.

“No you don't.” Sammi stands in the door, hands on her hips.

“Don't fuckin' try me, bitch. You did this? Now you're a dead woman walkin',” Mickey says.

“We don't have time.” Ian jumps over the MPs and comes up behind Mickey, looking at Sammi with a solemn expression. “We have to get inside.”

“What you have to do is go to jail, Ian. You're a good kid, but you've done things that you need to pay for, and-”

Ian doesn't listen. He doesn't have time. He grips Sammi tightly by one arm. Mickey, quick to follow his lead, grabs the other. They drag her forward with enough force that she falls down the steps, landing painfully beside the two MPs. As Ian glances down, he sees the groaning one is in the process of tearing strips away from the other one's throat with his teeth. The man is screaming, but it's turning into more of a gargling noise now as his throat fills with blood. This time it's Mickey pulling him away, into the house, slamming the door behind them and getting it locked. Ian runs to the back door to make sure it's secure as well.

“The fuck was that?” Mickey's breathing hard. He looks at Ian with eyebrows raised, blood still on his face from their fight. “Rabies or some shit?”

“I dunno,” Ian says. “But it didn't look good.”

*

They're still wearing their own blood as they sit on the couch side by side, coats abandoned. It's quiet now. For a while, it had been so noisy. Sammi banging on the door, demanding to be let in. Then the banging gaining more urgency as the two MPs had climbed the stairs towards her, one with blood and lines of flesh hanging from his torn open throat, his head dangling to the side as he crawled up the steps. She had put up a good fight. Ian and Mickey had watched, pressed together by the window, as she punched and kicked and yelled. Then the screaming had started, and they stopped watching.

The screen flickers with shaky camera phone footage. Video after video of similar scenes; people moaning and shuffling and attacking each other with teeth and nails. Some fight back with knives and guns. Some just go down, and when they rise again, they're one of them.

“It's the fuckin' zombie apocalypse,” Mickey says, his voice quiet with a frightened edge. He looks to Ian, but Ian's eyes don't leave the screen. His expression tight lipped and grim.

“I think our date's gonna have to wait.”

*

Fiona is late home. She comes through the back. There's blood on her face and her clothes are dirty.

“One of them chased me,” she explains, washing her cut hands in the downstairs toilet. “I tripped, but got away. They're not very quick.”

“You've got blood on your face,” Ian says. It's dark. A dark burgundy. Closer to brown than red.

“Yeah. I found a crowbar in the trash, took it just in case. As I was comin' down our street I met Sammi. She's one of them now.”

“Yeah. She called the MPs on me.”

“She what?” Fiona looks at him, eyes wide with fury. Ian gives her a brief recap. “I feel better about bashin' the bitch's head in now.”

“We fuckin' threw her to them. Deserves to be torn apart, callin' fuckin' MPs on Ian,” Mickey says, appearing behind Ian in the doorway.

“What happened to you two?” Fiona looks between their bloodied faces.

“This wasn't anything to do with what's happening,” Ian says, waving the concern away.

“Where's Liam?”

“He's still in bed, sleepin' soundly.” Mickey glances towards the stairs. “Still blissfully ignorant for now. Debbie's sleepin' as well.”

“Have you checked in with Lip?”

“He's barricaded in the dorms,” Ian says. “Tryna keep everyone calm. Says he'll get home as soon as it quiets down.”

“If it ever quiets down,” says Mickey.

“I hope Carl's okay.” Fiona rubs her face dry with a towel and slumps back against the wall. “If this happens in jail... They're all trapped in together.”

“He'll be fine.” Ian rubs her shoulder. “He's tough; he's a Gallagher.”

“Yeah, you're right. Has the news mentioned anything?”

“They're sayin' it's some kind of infection, maybe viral, but they don't have many details on it yet.”

“It's the fuckin' zombie apocalypse,” Mickey insists.

“Alright, I'm gonna call V and make sure her and Kev are okay. You two should get cleaned up.” She pauses, points a finger at Mickey's chest. “And you. None of that zombie talk in front of Liam. You'll scare him half to death.”

*

They shower together. Water running pinkish red down over their faces. Ian feels starkly sober now, cold inside, but not shut down in the same way he was before. Alcohol may not be buzzing in his system any longer, but now adrenaline is. He rubs a thumb over Mickey's forehead, helping wash the blood away. Mickey's fingers trail down over Ian's abdomen, ghosting over the splattering of bruises starting to darken.

“Sorry,” Ian says, so soft it's almost lost under the sound of falling water. Mickey takes his hand and kisses his wrist, lips pressing over his pulse point.

“We've got bigger things to worry about,” he says.

“I know. I just- I wanted to feel somethin'. I didn't want to be bubble wrapped any more.”

“I know.” Mickey reaches up to cup Ian's jaw, his thumb stroking along his cheekbone. Ian kisses him with water running down between their faces. He can taste it, copper edged with blood. The world might be falling apart, but Mickey is solid and firm against him, and Ian kisses him like he's drowning and Mickey's the last gasp of air. “We're gonna be okay.”

Ian's not sure he believes that, but for now, it's enough.

*

A couple of days pass. The news shows more of the same. There's no further information. People have started raiding. Dead bodies litter the street. Laws have become optional. It's a slow collapse into chaos.

“We gotta prepare,” Mickey says. “This ain't goin' away any time soon. We're already runnin' short on food. Look, we dunno how long it's gonna be. We have to get supplies. And weapons. We gotta go to my house so we can get weapons.”

“I don't want guns in this house,” Fiona says.

“Guns are the only thing that keeps them down.”

“He's right,” Ian says. “It's on the news. People are using knives and axes and all kinds of shit, but a shot to the head is the quickest way to stop them.”

He and Mickey go, with Fiona urging them to be careful. They take big backpacks. Mickey's got the Gallagher baseball bat. Ian's got the MP's gun. They make it most of the way without trouble. It's eerily quiet. Ian's used to the south side being a hub of noise; shouting and laughing and gun shots and cars. Now all he can hear is the distant sound of a dog barking.

As they're approaching the Milkovich house, a shape comes out from beneath the El. It's a moment before Ian recognises him. Mickey freezes, staring at the figure. The baseball bat hangs limp and useless by his side.

“Colin.” As Mickey remains immobile, Colin gets closer to them. His clothes are ripped and bloody, and there's a gaping, infected looking wound in his right shoulder.

“Mick.” Ian nudges him with his elbow. “Mick, we have to move.”

Mickey looks at Ian. His eyes are glassy. Colin is only a few steps away from them now. Ian shoves his gun into Mickey's empty hand and pulls the bat from him. He turns and whacks Colin's torso. The hit lands, but Colin feels solid and firm beneath it, only staggering slightly. His curled fingers close around the top of the bat. Ian yanks it free, taking half a step back. Ian goes for his knee next, and his leg crumples. He falls forward instead of back. His hand closes around Ian's ankle.

A gunshot rings out.

Mickey stands above Colin, his hands steady as he aims at his arm. Colin lets out a gargling roar of pain, but his fingers release Ian. Ian jumps over him, Mickey at his heels, and they run for the Milkovich house. For once, the door is locked.

“Open the fuck up, Iggy.” Mickey slams his fits against the door repeatedly until eventually it swings open.

“Get in, quick.” Iggy smells of weed and beer.

“You're fuckin' quick to drown your sorrows.” Mickey shoves past Iggy, who is watching Colin try and haul himself back to his feet. “We need guns.”

“I need guns!”

“There's enough guns to split. Close the fuckin' door already.”

They fill their bags with weapons; guns and knives.

“Hey, uh. Do you wanna come back with us, Iggy?” Ian asks, glancing around the cold, grey, empty house. He can't imagine trying to ride this out alone.

“Nah. If it keeps up I'm goin' to Jamie's. He's got that basement like a bunker.”

“You mean when you run out of weed, you're goin' to Jamie's.” Mickey scowls. Iggy flashes him a yellow toothed smile. “Just. Try not to fuckin' die, okay? And text me that you got there alright.”

“Didn't know you cared, bro.”

“We already lost Colin. We don't need to lose another Milkovich.”

*

After they deliver their gun goody bags back to the Gallagher's, their next run is to look for food.

“It's not safe,” Debbie says.

“You're right,” Ian agrees. “But we need food, Debs.”

He touches her shoulder, gives it a squeeze. She looks back at him with solemn eyes before she manages a smile. She touches his wrist.

“I'm glad you're back.”

Ian feels his chest tighten, but he says no more. His illness has been overlooked in the mess of this, but Mickey has still been gently reminding him to take his pills. He only does so because he can't bear the thought of turning on one of his family when all this shit is going down. He's tired again, today. Kind of distant and spacey, but that adrenaline buzz keeps him focused and present. He presses a kiss to Debbie's hair and hugs Liam before he and Mickey leave.

This time they're both armed with guns, though again, the journey to the store is fairly quiet. They don't go to the Kash and Grab. Linda's on her own with two kids and Ian doesn't want to do that to her, so they walk until they find the next shitty neighbourhood store. It's already been ripped bare.

“Shit, people round here don't waste any fuckin' time, do they?” Mickey shakes his head, looking into the empty skeleton of the shop that has been gutted.

“Let's keep goin', then.”

They pass a few stragglers after that. The first one is far away enough that it doesn't seem to notice them. The second one only has half a face. The other side is a beaten, bloody pulp, like someone took into them with a blunt object. Teeth stick through the torn skin of their lip. She was a middle aged woman before. Now she's just a groaning mess. Mickey shoots her through the head.

“Put her out of her fuckin' misery,” he says, looking down at the body. Ian feels sick. He can still see her as a person, and the ease with which Mickey shoots her down unsettles him. She wasn't even close enough to attack yet.

“Did you have to do that?”

“What?”

“Kill her.”

“Ian. She's one of them.”

“What if they find a cure? They might have been able to bring her back.”

“Look, if you think like that, if you're soft like that, you're gonna give them chances. And once they get you, that's it, you're one of them. So yeah. I had to do that. 'Cause I don't wanna be one of them, and I really don't fuckin' want you to be one of them. 'Cause I can't pull the trigger on you, Ian. If you turn...” He trails off, but Ian understands. If he goes, Mickey goes, too. If he goes, Mickey will just let Ian take him.

“Okay.” He brushes his fingertips over Mickey's knuckles. “Okay, you're right.”

They have to walk all the way to the big superstore, a half hour walk, just to find somewhere that hasn't been completely raided. They fill their bags, and then Mickey has the idea of hot wiring one of the abandoned cars in the parking lot.

“Means we can fill the car with stuff, and we can take heavier things, then, too. Like those big bags of pasta and rice. They'll last a while.”

Ian agrees, if only because he's worried about his family going hungry. They cram the car full with as much as it will take; all kinds of things. There's a lot of canned goods and dry foods like pasta and rice, things that will last a long time, and that they'll still be able to store if the power goes off. Then for the short term, they've loaded up on juices, milk, cereals, microwavable foods, snack packs, fruit, bread, and things for sandwiches. They've got several big packs of toilet paper, and a box of toiletries, though Mickey claims things like deodorant, shampoo and shower gel are not as important as food, and they shouldn't be giving them much space. They also bring a few big blankets back with them.

“Dunno when the heat'll go off,” Mickey says.

The ride back is uncomfortable. Ian has to keep his legs folded up, because they've packed supplies on the passenger side floor as well as the back and the boot, and he's got his backpack crammed on his knee. They meet two staggering forms on their way back, that crowd eagerly towards the car, but they're too slow, and Mickey has zoomed past them before they get close.

“Jesus, you feedin' an army or somethin?” Fiona comes out to the porch, arms folded. “And where'd you get the car?”

“Just help us get this in, already,” Ian says.

“Sure.” Fiona meets him halfway up the path, arms laden with food. She looks at him with a small smile. “Good job.”

*

They essentially have three houses in their little community. The Gallagher house, Kev and V's, and the house beside them that's been empty since Tony left. They're not using it at the moment, but Mickey says it's always good to have backup. Mickey says a lot of things. Mickey's watched enough post-apocalyptic films to have a wealth of plans and ideas for survival. For once, Ian thinks, his family really appreciate the fact there's a Milkovich in the house.

Lip gets back from college by doing what Mickey and Ian did and stealing a car. Fiona informs them she does not approve of their criminality, regardless of situation, but she's massively relieved. They all are. Mandy's safe, away from Kenyatta and leading her own small group. Her survivalist instincts just as strong as Mickey's. Iggy is with the other Milkovich brothers at Jamie's, and Mickey is unafraid for them.

“Long as they stick together, they'll be fine,” he says.

The only one they don't know about is Carl. They've called the prison but had no answer. The news has stopped broadcasting. Fiona buzzes with nervous, concerned energy when he's mentioned.

There's more of them now. Usually alone, but sometimes in groups of two or three. They stop outside the gate sometimes. At night they can be heard more clearly, with no other noise to distract.

“I love you,” Mickey says. Liam's finally fallen asleep after crying, frightened, for the past half hour. At first it was a game, but he's growing increasingly restless and grumpy being kept in the house all the time, prone to mood swings. Ian knows the feeling. He looks at Mickey with a quizzical smile.

“I know.”

“Just in case anything happens,” Mickey says, looking sheepish but sincere.

“Yeah, I know.” Ian leans over Liam's body, bundled in his arms, and kisses Mickey's cheek sweetly. Mickey turns to catch his lips; brief, chaste. “I love you.”

No matter how many times he says it, it always makes Mickey smile soft and dopey like it's the first.

*

Mickey hands Ian his morning meds, grim faced. Ian's chest tightens, immediately afraid something's happened to someone.

“What's wrong?”

“Your meds are done,” Mickey says, showing him the empty bottle.

“Oh.” Ian sighs, relieved, and swallows the ones Mickey has handed him. “I thought it was somethin' important.”

“This is. Ian, without your meds-”

“I'll be fine,” Ian insists. Mickey's face says otherwise. Ian knows he's worried he'll go back to doing crazy shit. He likes to think the distraction of everything would keep him focused enough he wouldn't, but then he remembers almost hitting Debbie with a baseball bat. The MPs hadn't even been a real threat. There's lots of real threats now, and he's usually holding a gun. That would do a lot more damage than a bat. “But I guess we can look for more next time we're out.”

“We gotta go out today. Water's off this mornin'. Gonna have to work out a new bathroom system as well.”

Ian rubs a hand over his face, visions of his morning shower obliterated. He doesn't even want to think about the bathroom situation.

“Okay, just, lemme get changed.”

*

They shoot a lot more often when they're out now. There is no cure in sight, and self preservation has caught up with Ian, has overpowered his empathy. Mickey's begun to voice concerns about their ammo. They've got plenty, for now, but for how long?

Their stolen car bumps over bodies in the road as Mickey slowly presses it forward. The roads are littered with all kinds of crap, but they have to go further and further afield to find supplies each time they leave. The slow obstacle course drive is still quicker than on foot, and often times safer.

“There's a pharmacy a few blocks up here,” Mickey says. “Maybe they'll have some sweets left we can bring back for Liam as well.”

“Right. For Liam.”

“Well, I wouldn't say no.” Mickey grins at him, and Ian smiles back briefly before his eyes return to surveying the road.

It's dark in the pharmacy, but they've brought torches. Ian stays close at Mickey's back as he picks the way through the shop, covering him. They try to walk as quietly as they can, relying as much on their hearing as they do on their sight.

“Fuckers cleaned this place out too,” Mickey says. He gets down on his stomach.

“What are you doin'?”

“Lookin' for anything that mighta fell down.” He stretches a hand under one of the shelves and pulls it out, looking triumphant as he holds up a pack of gummy sweets. Ian rolls his eyes and pulls Mickey to his feet.

They pick up what they can, though the place is pretty bare. They find some cough syrup, and while most of the painkillers have already been raided, there's six packets under a fallen shelf. They get disinfectant, band aids, and a roll of bandages, picking what they can from among the mess. Ian makes the great find of a large pack of batteries, and Mickey finds some fruit flavoured water under a tipped fridge. By the time they get to the dispensary, their bags are already pretty full.

“Stay here,” Mickey says, leaping over the counter. “Give me light and be my eyes.”

There's no time to argue, so Ian does as he says. Mickey goes about squinting at the names of drugs, trying to find Ian's. Ian's eyes flit around the dark. Shadows seem to shift before him, but he knows it's a trick of his eyes. It's still quiet. They're still safe. He glances back to Mickey when he hears a clatter, to find him not just filling the med bottle, but a zip lock bag he produces from his pocket, as many tablets as he can fit. Ian rolls his eyes, goes back to keeping watch as Mickey tries to find the others.

The bang is distant, and both he and Mickey's heads turn towards it.

“Could be someone else lookin' for stuff,” Ian offers.

“That doesn't mean we're any safer. If it's another raider and they really want what we got, they might be even more dangerous than the fuckin' zombies.” Mickey tilts his head, but no further sounds follow.

“Hurry up.”

“I'm goin' as fast as I can.”

This time it's a scraping noise, closer, and Ian feels the pit of his stomach go cold.

“Mick.”

“I've only got one more to get.”

Ian swings his torch around, and he can see them, three of them. Two coming from the right, but another a bit off from them, closing in on him like the point of a triangle.

“We've gotta go,” Ian says.

“I'm almost done.”

Ian hauls himself up on the counter and stands. He needs both hands for a steady aim, but he can't see without the torch. He jams it between his legs, the beam shaky as it bounces over them. He twists his hips, tightening his thighs to raise the beam and focus it on the stray one. The gunshot rings out loud in the high roofed building. His bullet hits the neck rather than head, and while it sends the stray one staggering back, it's not long before he's moving forward again. He aims and fires again, this time sending him down in a collapsed heap.

“Got it,” Mickey says behind him.

The other two are much closer now. Ian smells smoke and rot. He shifts the torch beam over the other two and raises his gun again. It's easier to aim with them this close, and he picks off the first one quickly. When he goes for the second one, his gun clicks. Empty. Ian looks around for another weapon, for something to use against her. Her hair has fallen out in lumps. Her dress is torn, half her bra hanging off. The breast beneath is torn and bloody. The nipple has been ripped off, possibly bitten. He jumps down behind the counter as she reaches for him, and then half her head explodes. Mickey is at Ian's shoulder, gun raised.

“You okay?”

Ian nods. Mickey takes his gun and puts it in his bag, trading it out for another, one that's full.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They make it back to the car without any trouble.

*

Their next stop is for water, and it takes them two different shops before they find somewhere that still has several packs of large bottles left. They go back and forth from the car, taking turns; one of them carrying the pack of water while the other covers them.

Ian's covering Mickey on this run as they step outside. The sky is a dirty grey above them. There's someone by the car. A child. Ian feels a flutter of concern.

“Hey,” he says, soft. Mickey glares at him. “You okay?”

She turns. She's a beautiful little black girl with dark eyes and pretty, frizzy plaited pigtails. Her dress is such a dark blue that it almost hides the blood stains down the front of it. Her arm is broken and bitten; the same swollen, infected kind of wound he's seen on the others. She looks up at him with her big brown eyes, then produces a low, guttural growl. A noise he wouldn't expect her to be capable of.

“Ian,” Mickey says, urgent, as she steps forward. He raises his gun, but he can't pull the trigger. She's so fuckin' small, and she reminds him of Liam. So young. Too young to fuckin' die. He feels his eyes burn with the hot threat of tears.

Mickey drops the water and shoots her in the thigh. She stumbles and falls, and so do the first of Ian's tears, his chest clenching painfully. Then, suddenly, like floodgates collapsing, he's sobbing. Mickey grabs his arm and drags him to the car. He shoves him in the front and goes back for the water. Ian doesn't look, but he hears a second gun shot. He puts his face in his hands and his body shakes.

“It's alright,” Mickey says when he gets in, but it's not, and it never will be.

“She was just a kid,” he says weakly. “Can't have been much older than Liam.”

Mickey doesn't try to comfort him with any more lies. He puts his hand on Ian's thigh. Ian takes it and squeezes hard. As they drive away, he risks a glance out the window, regretting it when he sees her crumpled body, like a pretty puppet with her strings cut.

*

Carl shows up a week later, bloodied and filthy, but still standing, accompanied by a big black man.

“This is Nick. He helped me get home. He's stayin' with us for a while,” he says.

The Gallaghers pile on top of Carl, hugging him, full of giddy relief at having their family back together. Mickey stands to the side. Ian catches him give Nick a nod over their heads.

“You okay?” he asks quietly when the hug has broken up and Fiona's taken Carl and Nick to the kitchen to feed them.

“Yeah. Glad your family's all okay.”

And Ian realises that he's lucky. That his family is all okay, but Mickey's is not. He thinks of Colin again, wonders what state he's in now. Ian pulls Mickey into a hug. Mickey presses his face to Ian's chest. They say nothing. They don't need to.

*

It keeps going, and the Gallaghers keep doing what they do best: surviving.

“I can do this run alone,” Ian says, trying to gently push Mickey back into bed. “You're sick.”

“It's just a cold,” Mickey says, his voice hoarse. Liam had gotten it first, and then Debbie, and now Mickey. An awful cold; husky, chesty cough, hoarse, painful throat, fever, runny eyes and a general achiness.

“You're not well. I can manage. It's just to the school.” The abandoned high school, to see if there's any scraps left since most of the shops are now barren.

“I'm comin',” Mickey says. “I ain't lettin' you go alone.”

“I can manage,” Ian says, a touch defensive. They're all a bit stir crazy now. Living on top of each other may have strengthened their bond, but it's also strained it. Liam throws constant temper tantrums. Debbie and Carl bicker constantly. Fiona makes frequent trips to Kev and Vs just to get a break from it all. Mickey and Ian have been balancing delicately on the fragile cracks of their relationship, but Ian's starting to want to put his foot in them, open them into crevasses.

“I know you can, but if anything happened to you...” Mickey looks at him; his eyes watery and red rimmed, his nose pink and rubbed raw. “Ian, I'd rather die by your side than have to live in a world without you. Where you're gone and I didn't do shit to stop it. There ain't anything left out there for me. You're all I'm here for, now. So we go together or you don't go at all.”

“Okay,” Ian says, feeling something in his chest soften and release, feeling like the cracks have been smoothed over, even temporarily. He doesn't know how long this will go on, doesn't know if there's an end or if they're just postponing death, but he knows that regardless of what happens, he and Mickey have each other's backs.


End file.
